Klute Page #6

Klute tosses down a second photograph.

INSERT:
SECOND PHOTOGRAPH

Tom Grunemann, Elaine Grunemann, two daughters.

BREE, KLUTE

BREE:

(cool)

A family sort of man.

Klute grunts, meaning 'yes'. She echoes his grunt,

meaning we don't know what. He tosses another --

INSERT:
WIDE PHOTOGRAPH - COMPANY PICNIC

An everybody-over-here, fellow-employees, sort of

picture. (Including the figures of Streiger and

Cable among many others, male and female.) The

usual impedimenta -- picnic baskets, balls, bats, a

held sign:
'Tole-American'. KLUTE'S FINGER

indicates --

KLUTE (V.O.)

-- Tom, again.

KLUTE, BREE

She looks at the picture briefly, at him

questioningly.

KLUTE:

Company outing or picnic or

something like that.

BREE:

Isn't that sweet.

(then)

Well it could be any one of them

bubi; I get to see them all.

She separates from Klute, around the table (but

remains standing, restless). Klute puts photo

aside, prepares to take notes, as she pleads --

BREE (CONT'D)

Look -- please -- will you just try

to get it from my side? A year ago.

I was in the life fulltime. I was

living on Park with leather

furniture and a million dresses.

Then they dropped on me, the fuzz,

they caged me -- they started

asking me about a man, some man,

I'm supposed to have seen a year

before that. Two years ago, two. He

could be in Yemen!

She waits for Klute to respond -- he doodles

permissively on his pad of paper -- she goes on.

BREE (CONT'D)

A name. Grunemann. Nothing. And

they showed me pictures like this

and they meant nothing. Then they

asked me, well had I been getting

letters, from someone out there in

Cabbageville --

KLUTE:

-- Tuscarora --

BREE:

All right, yes, I had been. Those

sick, wild letters -- I'm watching

you, gonna follow you, gonna punish

you, kill you et cetera. Well, they

said, all right that's Grunemann.

So try to remember when you and he

- when -- well I don't know, there

was that dumper once, he sounded

like that dumper --

(explains)

Dumpers; they get their kicks

beating you up. A man hired me

once, then tried to really kill me

- that'd be about two years ago.

Without warning she wheels to the open windows, and

shouts out full-voiced -- both startling and

somewhat intriguing Klute --

BREE (CONT'D)

(shouts)

OK Tommy-baby, Allie-Allie-in-free

kid, I got the gumdrops.

Turns around again, to Klute. Cheerfully --

BREE (CONT'D)

You remind me of my uncle.

KLUTE:

What?

(then --)

What do you remember about that --

dumper?

BREE:

Nothing. Except he wasn't kidding.

Usually it's a fakeout, you

probably know. They pretend to tie

you up, and you wear a dress with a

cloth belt and they pretend to whip

you or you --

(beat)

Hell it's their money. I'll hang

from the shower rod and whistle

Maytime. Except this guy was really

tripped out on it; he --

KLUTE:

But you can't say that Dumper was

Tom Grunemann.

BREE:

I can't say he was anybody!

A brief pause. Klute sorts his notes. She may take

it that he's packing to leave -- hopes so anyhow.

For an instant we see the undefended girl

underneath --

BREE (CONT'D)

So -- OK -- that's all?

Then again she changes manner -- remembering a

practical problem, approaching it as a matter-of

fact hooker.

BREE (CONT'D)

Well could I have them back now

hon? -- those tape recordings

you've got downstairs -- OK? -- and

if you want you can have a good

time and I'll have a good time and--

KLUTE:

What about everything since?

She draws back again. Up to now she's been

reasonably on top of things. Starting now we see

her driven toward the things she'd really rather

not talk about -- and increasingly more shaken.

KLUTE (CONT'D)

(prompts)

Everything that's happened since

Tom Grunemann disappeared. The

phone calls and the --

BREE:

Just phone calls, right? They ring,

you answer, they don't say

anything, just blank. Kids getting

kicks. Burglars looking for an

empty apartment. I mean there is

nothing that proves --

KLUTE:

What about the other things you've

reported? --

(consulting notes)

-- being followed on the --

BREE:

(interrupts -- awkwardly)

Look -- I'm sorry -- I've led

everybody wrong. I mean yes, I get

those feelings, but that's just me,

that's just feelings.

(beat)

I'm sure this will amuse you;

I'm scared of the dark. And

sometimes I get shook up, I hear

people or -- well, I'll come out in

the morning and think someone's

been prying at my mailbox, or

there's a little -- trash outside

my door and I wonder if someone

left it there for -- do you see? --

things other people wouldn't even

notice. Well that's not real, it's

just nerves; it's got nothing to do

with --

The PHONE RINGS. She startles. Then approaches with

some difficulty -- but then answers with complete

calm in her Smith-girl voice.

BREE (CONT'D)

Bree Daniel.

(listens. Brightly)

Oh yes, Ted Carlin, how is Ted?

(listens)

Oh, well, thank you very much but

maybe the next time you're in town?

(listens)

Well I just love Ted and I'd love

to meet you -- you have a very nice

voice -- but I just --

(listens, grows impatient)

Well I'm having a chat with a very

nice cop. Actually not a real cop;

he's a private inves --

A BUZZING from the phone; the connection abruptly

broken. She hangs up, recites.

KLUTE:

Is that how you get most of your

dates? Someone gives your name to

someone else?

BREE:

Most of them.

KLUTE:

Is that how you met the Dumper? --

Someone else gave --

BREE:

How would I remember?

KLUTE:

How else do you meet them? Pimps?

(a beat)

BREE:

(patient)

You're very square. Pimps don't get

you dates, cookie; they just take

the money.

Klute takes up the slip of paper previously given

him by Trask. In the same manner as before --

KLUTE:

I have some names the police gave

me. Frank Ligourin. Will you tell

me what --

BREE:

(trembling)

Look, I'm sure this'll amuse you

too. Ilia trying to get away from

all that.

KLUTE:

What about the old gentleman the

other night, Mr. Faber?

She freezes again, looking at him. Then savagely --

BREE:

You saw that, goddamn you? You saw

it? He's seventy. His wife's dead.

He started cutting garments at

fourteen. His whole life, he's

maybe had a week's vacation, I'm

all he has and he never, never

touches me, and what harm in it,

what --

She chokes -- then goes on --

BREE (CONT'D)

Klute, tell me, what's your bag?

Are you a talker, or a button man

or a doubler, or maybe you like

them very young -- children -- or

get your chest walked around with

high-heeled shoes, or have us watch

you tinkle? Or --

KLUTE:

(under)

-- OK --

BREE:

-- You want to wear women's

clothes, or you get off ripping

things --

She grabs up the company picture, raging on --

BREE (CONT'D)

-- you perverted hypocrite square

bastards.

KLUTE:

OK.

Something in his inflection -- very slight --

cautions her. She falls silent as suddenly as she

began. Then cheerfully --

BREE:

Gee I hope this doesn't make my

cold any worse.

KLUTE:

Tell me about Frank Ligourin.

BREE:

(casual, pleasant)

Mm? Oh, he was my old man. We broke

up.

She wanders away toward a bureau. Her shirt seems

to itch her; she scratches her ribs. Then opens

drawer, takes out a different shirt as --

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